


bruised

by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch/pseuds/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch
Summary: Arthur tends to Merlin's wounds and uncovers a truth that just waited to be revealed.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 389





	bruised

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [伤口](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045063) by [WatermelonJuiceGood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatermelonJuiceGood/pseuds/WatermelonJuiceGood)



> This is based on a tumblr prompt: "Are you hurt?." "No." Then why are there bruises all over your face." It's my first Merthur fic, written for the fun of it and for my dear friend @fragiledewdrop.
> 
> [ There's now a Chinese version of this!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045063)

Merlin behaves weird. 

That is, even weirder than usual if that is actually possible. He had kept to the shadows near the door the whole evening, served Arthur‘s dinner with a deep bow that hid his face, and he hadn‘t said more than two words. 

Weird. 

Arthur tries to catch his gaze, but Merlin seems fascinated by something on the floor. 

He sighs, growing restless by Merlin’s behaviour. „What is it, Merlin?“

„Nothing, Sire.“

Arthur feels his forehead crease. That answer does nothing whatsoever to dissolve his suspicions. Merlin calls him sire only when he is angry or pissed or quietly making fun of Arthur, assuming Arthur doesn’t notice. It is always uttered with that undertone that made it an insult more than the title the Prince of Camelot was owed. 

„Come here.“ Arthur waves with a half-eaten chicken leg, instantly feels like an idiot and puts it back down on his plate. 

When Merlin steps into the circle of candle-light, he still keeps his head down, but Arthur can now see the side of his face. 

„Merlin. What - Are you hurt?“

He is out of his chair in a heart-beat and steps toward Merlin. Who takes a step back. 

In all these years, Merlin has never been afraid of him, even if he had every right to, for Arthur knows his temper sometimes gets the better of him and people do well to keep their distance in those instances. Never Merlin though. It sickens him more than he would ever admit to see Merlin flinch away from him. 

„Merlin, are you hurt?“

„No“, comes the unconvincing answer. 

Arthur takes another step closer, slower this time, hand outstretched like he would toward an anxious horse. 

„Then why are there bruises all over your face?“

Merlin shrugs and says nothing. 

Arthur‘s mind provides a thousand explanations for Merlin‘s silence, the strategic part of his brain desperately trying to piece the story together. 

He might have been mugged, or he had stumbled down the stairs, or someone pushed him. 

Sudden, unbridled rage boils in his gut at the though that someone might have hurt Merlin intentionally. Arthur would like to think that rage would rise in him no matter who had been hurt. But that wasn‘t the chivalrous contempt that coursed through him when he witnessed an injustice. 

What made his stomach churn now was more than than, and the reason for that, well... 

Stood in front of him now and wouldn‘t meet his goddamn eyes. 

„What happened,“ he snaps, harsher than intended, because keeping a lid on his anger was fucking hard on a normal day and this wasn‘t normal by any measure. Merlin had been hurt, and hadn‘t felt the need to inform him about the fact, hadn‘t come to him for help. Arthur clenches his swordhand until it hurts, wishing fervently for an enemy he could slay. 

Merlin flinches again. 

Only now does Arthur see the bloom of red on his tunic, right over Merlin heart. 

„Is that blood? And don‘t you dare lie to me.“

At last, Merlin lifts his head, the defiant look on his expressive features telling Arthur that he has enough of that commanding tone. 

„No?“ Merlin shoots back, and his eyes dance with barely concealed emotion, too many of them in too quick succession to decipher. 

„You‘re bleeding,“ Arthur states, the anger leaving him as quick as it rose to be replaced by worry. „What the hell happened?“

„Nothing.“ Merlin‘s face closes down again, evening out into his most stoic facade. „If that will be all?“

„No, it will not be all. Come over here and sit by the fire. We‘ll have a look at that.“ Arthur turns and pulls a chair closer to the hearth without waiting for an answer. 

Feet shuffle behind him. 

„I can ask Gaius…“ Merlin starts, but Arthur interrupts him with a wave of his hand. 

„Yeah, sure, after you‘ve been so forthcoming with it towards me,“ he shakes his head. „Come sit. That‘s an order.“

A heavy pause follows. Merlin seems to debate the possible outcome if he disobeys. Not that Arthur ever went through with his threats, at least not over the last years. Merlin knows that, so it is testament to his faith in Arthur that he steps forward and sits down gingerly on the offered chair. 

In the light the bruises look even more hideous than before. Black and purple spots cover the whole right side of Merlin‘s face. Arthur reaches out to touch the bruising with a light fingertip. Merlin grits his teeth but doesn’t move. 

„I have to see if you jaw or cheekbone is broken.“ 

„I know,“ Merlin answers through clenched teeth.   
Of course he knows, Arthur realizes, sometimes he forgets that Merlin spends half the day at Gaius‘ side and might have seen more broken bones than even Arthur between tournaments and battles and training. 

„Seems alright,“ Arthur murmurs, suddenly very aware of their proximity. Has it gotten warmer in the room? 

Merlin‘s throat works heavily when Arthur takes the chance and let his finger wander down his neck, even though there were no bruises below his jaw. 

Arthur clears his throat, tries to snap out of it. „So, where‘s the wound?“

„You really don‘t have to…“ Merlin starts again, weakly protesting Arthur‘s help and wriggling uncomfortably in his seat. 

„I have bandaged other knights since I was a boy and had to set to more broken bones than I care to remember. I might not be Gaius, but I assure you, I‘m more than capable to tend to your wounds,“ Arthur grumbled, irrationally hurt by Merlin’s words. 

Merlin smiles at his outburst, and that smile washes away the worry and the lingering anger in one sweep, just like it always does. 

Merlin swallows hard and rubs his palms over his breeches. „Okay.“ He reaches up to undo the laces of his shirt, but Arthur stops his hands. 

„Let me.“ His own hands cover Merlin‘s long and elegant fingers, and for a long moment, they stay like this. Arthur‘s heart beats in his throat. The atmosphere in the room shifts into something new and dangerous. Merlin‘s gaze flicks upwards, meets his, searching, before it dances away. 

After a long moment Merlin lowers his hands and leans back, presenting his throat as if in defeat. 

Arthur inhales deeply, tries to slow his racing pulse, to concentrate on the laces, untangling them from the hasty knot Merlin must have made this morning. When he is done, Merlin lifts his arms and let Arthur tug the fabric over his head. 

A nasty gash, about an inch long, marks the soft white skin of Merlin‘s chest, the red line angry in the low light. The trickle of blood has already slowed down, so it mustn‘t be deep, but it still must hurt something awful. 

„Who did this?“ Arthur demands. 

„Just a few drunkards in the lower town,“ Merlin evades. Arthur counts to ten to keep calm and busies himself with searching for the stash of ointment and bandages he keeps in his closet. When he comes back to Merlin, he feels somewhat calmer, if not by much. 

„And how did you end up in a fight with them?“ He cleanes the wound as carefully as possible and covers it with the ointment. 

Merlin shrugs and gasps when the motion tugged on the wound. Arthur reaches out to his shoulder and presses him firmly back into the chair. 

„Use your words, Merlin,“ he murmurs. The irony of the fact that he’s making demands he fails to follow himself is not lost on him. There are a lot of things he should have told Merlin a long time ago. 

For a long while the cackling of the fire and the soft rustling of the bandages are the only sounds in the room. Arthur does his best to concentrate on his task and not let his eyes wander to the dark pink nipple that hardens while he watches, despite the stifling heat in the room, or the way the Merlin holds his bunched up shirt in his lap, knuckles white from his iron grip, and he most definitely does not wonder what exactly Merlin might possibly want to conceal. 

No, Arthur does not let himself become distracted, not even by the the trail of dark hair that reaches from Merlin‘s chest down his stomach in the most distracting way. 

Merlin sighs. „They spoke ill of you,“ he whispers. Arthur stills his hands on the bandage and looks up. 

„They did what?“

„I don‘t want to repeat it but I couldn‘t let it stand,“ Merlin meets his gaze, defiant and at the same time full of so much of his unwavering loyalty that Arthur‘s breath hitches. He‘s not sure he deserves it, that faith and devotion Merlin proves in everything he does. 

„You don‘t need to defend my honor, you know? You can‘t start a brawl everytime someone talks shit about me.“ Arthur stares long and good at Merlin to get the message through his thick head, even when his heart swells at the thought of Merlin defending him. 

Merlin‘s plush lips settle into a thin line. 

„I couldn‘t let it stand,“ he repeats, with an air of resigned finality. And maybe he can‘t, Arthur thinks, Merlin never knew when he should flee Arthur‘s side or save himself. He always threw himself right into the fight, even when he had no chance to win it. 

Without conscious thought, he reaches out and touches Merlin‘s unblemished cheek, and Merlin turns his head into the touch, eyes closing, lashes fanning out over his high cheekbones. His soft, soft lips pressing against Arthur‘s palm. 

Arthur‘s chest is too small to contain the rush of fondness, it constricts his lungs, and makes it hard to breathe. The moment hangs suspended between them, Arthur standing in front of Merlin, bowing over him, close enough to feel his breath on his face. They could still end this, pretend it was only but a moment of tenderness between friends, nothing more, and go back to their lives as if nothing happened. 

Merlin opens his eyes slowly, and in them Arthur finds what he always feared and yearned for in equal measure. Merlin opens his mouth to speak, closes it. He shakes his head and squares his shoulders as if drawing from that secret well of courage he seems to possess.

Sticking his chin out, eyes burning, Merlin opens his thighs, until his knees bracket Arthur‘s. Such a small movement, but still changing everything. 

Arthur knows what it feels like to be desired, he knows the signs, can read them in the faces of courtiers and servants alike. He‘s seen it in Merlin now and then, quick glances, covered up the next second by a silly joke. 

Now, though, now Merlin let‘s him see, and what Arthur sees takes his breath away. Love, devotion, lust, all mixed up in that blue stare, open for Arthur to read and judge. 

He has no idea how today became the day to bring that truth into the light, can‘t retrace the steps they took to end up here, but he won‘t let the moment pass. 

His thumb strokes along Merlin‘s jawline, up to his plump bottom lip. Merlin‘s hands are twisting in the fabric of his shirt, a short gasp ripped from him, and a soft blush rises from his chest to his cheeks. How is Arthur supposed to walk away from this? It would take a much stronger man to resist, and in Merlin‘s presence, he always feels so foolishly safe to be weak. 

He leans in and brings their mouths together in the chastest of kisses, gouging Merlin‘s reaction, suddenly afraid that he read the signs wrong, that Merlin will flinch back and run and never come back. 

But Merlin only trembles lightly under his touch, and then he‘s kissing Arthur back, hard and with a low grunt of hunger that shoots right to Arthur‘s groin. A hand is carding through his hair, tugs his head into a better angle, and then Arthur can do nothing but let himself be swept away by the feel of Merlin‘s tongue and lips and teeth, the sweet torture of being so very close but not ever close enough. 

Merlin behaves like a clumsy fool most of the time, and his skills as a manservant are lacking in almost every possible way, but in this, there‘s not trace of that clumsiness, he kisses with the focus and the passion of a fighter, every motion of his lips sending tendrils of pleasure through Arthur, spiraling him higher into a state of arousal that would be embarrassing if he still cared about appearances. 

He parts their lips with a wet sound, already regretting the loss of contact, but the position is starting to become uncomfortable and he needs to get closer to Merlin, right the fuck now. 

Merlin seems to agree. He pushes himself up and out of the chair, crowding into Arthur‘s space until their chests touch. Arthur, belatedly, remembers the bandages and gets back to work with shaking hands while Merlin stands before him, completely unguarded, breathing heavily. 

The shirt fell from his lap, and a glance downward shows Arthur the effect that kiss had on both of them. Arthur rips his eyes away to concentrate on his task. It might be the hardest thing he ever had to do.

His mind clears a little. Arousal is still humming right under his skin, but Merlin won‘t go anywhere tonight, Arthur will have him in his bed, all that pale skin spread out for him to explore and tease and cherish. When he finishes his work, he places a soft kiss right atop the bandages, just under Merlin‘s collarbone. 

„You don‘t need to save me, you know? Promise me you‘ll never be this reckless again,“ he murmurs against Merlin‘s skin and lets the worry seep into his words, to make Merlin understand what he can‘t yet say aloud. „I can‘t lose you.“

„You won‘t,“ Merlin answers, solemly, with that tone he sometimes has, as if he‘s sharing some kernel of profound wisdom that Arthur can‘t quite grasp. 

Arthur knows there‘s something Merlin doesn‘t tell him, some part of this puzzle he hasn‘t solved. He‘s sure there will be a hell lot of questions later, as to how and if they can make this work, if there‘s a future to this.

He pushes away those thoughts, tilts up Merlin‘s chin and brings their lips together once more.

For now, this is enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [procasdeanating](https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com/post/613943912480014336/for-the-sentence-starters-816-or-18-i-am-so) on tumblr. Come say hi!


End file.
